


It's Hereditary

by Ooze



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:37:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3815803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ooze/pseuds/Ooze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From Sparda to Vergil to Nero: the urge to protect others is evidently a family trait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Hereditary

A flurry of curses ran through Vergil's head—and he was not one to curse in excess.

But, where his son was concerned, all of his standards fell beneath his feet and were trampled willingly. All of his cool, all of his pride was momentarily forgotten when his eyes set upon his overeager child receiving a spear through the abdomen. Now, _why_ did his family members have the habit of getting themselves impaled?

Whether or not he was adequately equipped, Vergil ran his blade—a poor substitute for his usual arms—through each and every foe that sprung in his path. He'd managed to handle the temporary weapon with astounding ease and skill. It couldn't have been easier—but, then again, he held mastery over practically any blade.

And it was with such anger, such fury that he tore them all apart as he hustled his way to the incapacitated Nero. His moves were flawless, precise; _perfect_. He was too used to order and control to allow his volcanic emotions to alter the flow of his style. However, the look on his face had not betrayed the emotional tempest that pushed him in a way he hadn't felt for what had to have been _years_. To guess that his deep, protective instincts would ever be called forth again, and with such intensity, was a surprise at best. And all because of the blood link between a bratty boy and himself.

The panic and the agony on Nero's face was what made everything so much worse. Even though he'd heal as soon as the obstruction was removed, that fact had done little to nothing to comfort either of them. As long as Nero suffered, Vergil would fight against that which tormented him. And it was the demon that pinned Nero to a rock face that got to see and feel the wrath of an angered parent.

In a matter of minutes, they'd all died at the touch of his blade. But, damn, the projectile sticking out of Nero was wedged deep into the rough surface behind him. At least he was close enough to the ground to have his legs support him. If only he hadn't been careless…

The boy hissed and grunted through a snarl, obviously not used to having things puncture his insides. It only happened, what, once in his life? He threatened to Trigger, what with the frenzy of pain and frustration saturating his being. But seeing he was only in the company of someone he partially trusted, he tried to calm himself for _both_ their sakes. He would be fine now: he had to tell himself that repeatedly.

Vergil grabbed the hilt of the spear, and his touch alone was enough to produce a feral growl from the boy.

“Easy. You're not going to die.”

“Just. Get. This. Thing. Outta me!”

Vergil's frown deepened at his son's reaction. But he said nothing as his hands were wrapped around the spear, gradually, painfully pulling it toward him. Nero had placed his own two hands around the circumference of the damned thing to quicken its extraction, wincing as he fought the sting that surged out through his wound. Seeing his own blood leak onto the grass below gave him further incentive to _hurry up_. He mentally cursed at Dante for not telling him how to properly cope with impalement.

With every inch, Nero's freedom neared, and the anxiety in Vergil began to wash away as his composure returned. Now that he was in control of the situation, he could gather his thoughts and remember to push his passions aside. In a way, he didn't want to appear too soft to Nero, which rather contradicted his desire to want to get closer to him. He would do so indirectly, as long as he kept his cool. But, damn, seeing his child in danger was something he hadn't counted on. Now he found himself hurting his son, albeit mildly, even though he'd been trying to alleviate him at the same time.

But Nero was no baby, after all; he'd braved many things, most of those worse than what he currently faced. He was pissed off more than anything now that his father was there and the immediate threat had all but vanished.

Thankfully the spear slid with growing ease, and much to Nero's aggravation Vergil had taken the chance to quite forcefully _yank_ the rest of it out. A yell from Nero signified that it was all over, and Vergil dropped the bloodied weapon in the same instant his son nearly toppled over. The elder of the pair caught him, and reflexively Nero put his arm around his obliged father for support as he steadied himself on his feet. He felt like shit but he was already healing, and no sooner when he regained his bearings did his wound close up successfully.

“Damn it,” he breathed in response to Vergil's handling of the situation.

And only then it came to him.

He noticed his father in his periphery; noticed how he was willingly putting himself in physical contact, supporting, helping, caring. Nero was surprised, briefly forgetting his situation in a flash of doubt. But he hadn't seen the look on Vergil's face, and he didn't try. It was enough.

“I'm fine,” he finally spoke, some steadiness to his voice, though his tone was resigned. He immediately pushed himself away, unaccustomed to being so close to someone he hadn't known well enough. He just couldn't bring himself to trust, or even like, the man fully. A part of him prevented that. Plus, he still wasn't convinced; a simple act of selflessness wasn't enough to change his mind.

He followed up with a simple “Thanks,” though he avoided looking in Vergil's direction. Was there some shame there? Unease definitely stretched out among the two, and neither of them ventured to say anything more.

Nero ran a finger through the hole in his vest to examine the spot where his wound should have been. His skin was smooth, clear, yet slick due to blood. He cursed at the fact that his vest was ruined, and it would be a chore to get the blood out of his clothes once dry. It was as if he had been no worse than when he got started that day—and yet a lot had changed in the span of a handful of hours.

His eyes had seen things; his heart felt differently; his mind argued but he was now conflicted and confused. Time was what he needed to sort things out.

Vergil was supposed to be a careless prick with a one-track mind. So what exactly had Nero seen back there, only a few minutes ago?

While the boy stood there a bit perplexed and hesitant, Vergil watched him. He didn't dare speak up, but he didn't need to; Nero turned to him at last and suggested they should get a move on. He was noticeably ill at ease, but Vergil breathed calmly and only motioned for his son to go on ahead.

He saw so much of himself in that boy. He couldn't help keeping himself in deep thought as they walked.

It was strange: having those blinding urges to defend loved ones, even after so much time had gone without them—and paternal instincts surfacing on top of that. Vergil had pushed compassion so far away that it felt disorienting to have it back, as diluted as it was. But there was no denying it; he _knew_ what he felt when he scrambled to Nero's aid. It might have been gone now, but it was definite, as clear as day, and it lingered in his depths. As far as he knew, not a soul had a right to harm his child; nothing would endanger him as long as his father was there to spook the demons away.

And the chill that hung around him had warmed. Maybe only slightly, but it hadn't really been as off-putting as usual, and remained so for the rest of the day. There was a strange warmness, in fact, between them in the space they shared. Nero was unnerved by it, in a way hoping that Vergil would just go back to being the callous iceberg that he'd come to know.

Not that he wasn't already. To his credit, Vergil hadn't directed a single word to Nero, nor had he really interacted with him as much as he had on other occasions. Perhaps it was his own sheepishness that kept him from bringing any attention to himself. God knows Nero avoided him in much the same way. It had been a strange day indeed.

But for all of the discomfort and the shyness (on Nero's part), the pair had stuck together anyway. Nero knew that he raced to Vergil's side once to save him from death; and now his father apparently wanted to return the favor by helping his child in his hour of peril. Obviously, there was more than gratitude in their relationship. One cared about the other, one held deep desire to safeguard the other—it was in their nature. It ran in the family.

So there really was no way to split them apart, was there?


End file.
